


The Right Equation

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Starsky & Hutch (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-02
Updated: 2004-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch knows math.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Equation

**Author's Note:**

> Just moving some stuff over from Livejournal.
> 
> [An alternate version of the post-club scene.]

Hutch knows math. He's no genius at it, failed calculus in high school, but what does that matter? He gets the regular stuff real good, anyhow. He understands that one plus two is three, and one plus one is only two, and that in most cases one plus two equals three is more fun than one plus one equals two. Simple, right? More is better.  
  
Hutch knows a little French, too, picked some of it up from a pretty girl he used to know, Giselle or something like that. She didn't teach him much, only the key phrases for a one-night stand. So yeah, Hutch knows precisely what _menage a tois_ entails, and the girls on Starsky's couch downstairs don't seem like they'd be too bothered by the idea. Seem like they'd be completely _not_ bothered by it, if Hutch has read them right so far, and Hutch is usually pretty good at reading people.  
  
  
And yet.  
  
  
And yet he's sitting here on the edge of Starsky's bed (waterbed, his mind documents, and he pushes at it idly and watches Starsky dip just the tiniest bit), watching as Starsky's eyes dart back and forth and wondering what the hell came over him tonight at the club, wondering why he's so jittery, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.  
  
  
It's not the fact that he's _considering_ the idea that's bothering him, because the thought's crossed his mind several times before. There's something ridiculously endearing about Starsky, something in the stiff set of his shoulders and the grin that quirks at his lips when he's driving the Torino, like a little kid playing with his favorite toy. Hutch likes him because he can see beneath the tough demeanor, because when Starsky's not being so uptight and wound up he's actually a pretty good guy.  
  
A really good guy.  
  
A _guy_ , but that isn't what's bothering Hutch. ' _Easy_ , baby, calm the fuck down,' Huggy had told him, and after a while (and a few drinks) Hutch figured yeah, okay. So Starsky's a guy, but so what? And so Hutch has always been attracted to women before, but so what? First time for everything, and it's not like he and Starsky don't make sense together, not like it's a completely insane combination or anything.  
  
  
It's just the fact that he's still lingering here when there are two hot ladies sitting downstairs on the couch, two of them and one of him, and that still makes three. And he kind of loves Starsky, sure, but theoretically he's got forever to work on him.  
  
Hutch is patient, but he doesn't see the point in abstaining while he's waiting for something better.  
  
  
And _yet_.  
  
  
He shifts a little and murmurs useless words to calm Starsky's senseless rambling, barely aware of the sound of his voice, and he doesn't notice that his hand is drifting toward Starsky's hair until after the fact, until his fingers are halfway tangled in the - permed, definitely permed - dark curls, and by then it's sort of already too late, so he just goes with it.  
  
Hutch is good at going with it, but he knows Starsky isn't, and sure enough, Starsky stops, mid-sentence, and his eyes go a little wider.  
  
"Hutch," he says, and Hutch can't tell if it's a statement or a question, so he waits. He looks at Starsky and Starsky looks at him and there's a long moment where Hutch tries to figure out a plausible excuse should he need one. He doesn't like to give excuses usually, but he's good at making them up, except this time he can't think of any other reason than the actual one, and if things don't go right he doesn't think that's what Starsky's going to want to hear. "Hutch," Starsky says again, and Hutch holds his breath.  
  
  
"That's nice," Starsky mumbles finally, eyes going half-mast, and his hand curls into a loose fist on the sheets below him and then uncurls again, and all of a sudden it's like every bit of tension is drained from his body, and Hutch doesn't quite know what to think of that. "Yeah," he says, and it's almost so quiet as to be inaudible, but Hutch hears it loud and clear.  
  
"Yeah?" he says, just to make sure, because he knows Starsky has the ability to relax but he's certainly never seen it to this extent before.  
  
"Yeah," Starsky says, and then he mumbles "Hutch" again, and there's a quiet, burned-out kind of desperateness in his voice that sends a little shiver down Hutch's back, straight to his crotch. He coughs.  
  
Starsky opens his eyes.  
  
  
Hutch knows math. He knows one plus two is three and one plus one is only two, knows three is more than two and more is usually better.  
  
  
And yet.  
  
  
Hutch leans in. The waterbed dips toward him, sends Starsky sliding even closer to the edge. Hutch tangles his fingers tighter in Starsky's hair. Starsky lets out a little groan, low and breathless, and tips his head back on the pillow.  
  
  
Hutch dips his head in, presses his lips against Starsky's, and hopes the girls can let themselves out.


End file.
